


Sanctuary

by houndinghell



Series: Dragon Age Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Consensual Kink, F/M, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, Light BDSM, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndinghell/pseuds/houndinghell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Prompted for "Sanctuary - Iron Bull/Female Trevelyan" on Tumblr.)</p><p>This is the first time that Bull had really gone through with it when she insisted she liked the ropes a little tighter. That alone would be enough to make her smile; that trust he has that she is learning their games well enough to push the rules and limits without risk.</p><p>But it’s more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains BDSM elements, ALL of which are completely consensual and established prior to the fic in-depth conversation between consenting adult partners. These discussions are implied, but not shown.
> 
> BDSM elements include: dom/sub, shibari (rope bondage), hair pulling, and bruising.

“You’re thinking too much.”

His words rumble through his lips at the nape of her neck. One of his hands is tangled in her hair, just below the silk belt that covers her eyes. His other arm is coiled snug around her hip so that his fingers can lie against the inside of her thigh. His knees press to the outside of legs, framing her in, giving her nowhere to go on the bed unless she intends to tip herself forward. She swallows hard and tries to make herself relax. _Tries_.

As she shifts, the ropes that bind her creak and dig in—not hurting, but the pressure is a constant. Her arms are held neatly behind her with all that rope: wrist tied to wrist, elbows just bumping together, her forearms twisting against her shoulder blades, and all held in place by the loops over her shoulders and around her ribcage. Even her fingers are tied, though those are done with soft cotton lace that Bull had kissed as he tangled them all together. Her back is sore with the effort of holding herself like that, like a sunburn gone too deep. His touch is that way, too—too hot, too much, too worth the sunshine to even consider giving up.

“Sorry, Bull.”

The hand in her hair shifts, and he’s grabbing at the root now so he can tug her head back slow, slow, so agonizingly slow until her neck is entirely bared and vulnerable. If she could see, the only thing in her vision would be the ceiling. Every pulled hair stings, dragging her focus to that point of almost-pain almost-pleasure.

Rough and calloused fingers skim up and down her thigh, going higher and higher with each pass before crossing her hip to rest on her stomach and trace smaller circles there. A giggle bursts out of her as she squirms away from the touch, but the only place she can go is back; her shoulders fall against his chest, bracing her against him and pinning his hand at the base of her skull between them. It must have been his intent, because the moment her weight is leaned against his frame, the hand on her stomach stills again.

“I’ve got you, remember? Just you and me, kadan. Nothing else.” His voice is low, gentle, and just a little bit hoarse. It’s a tone he reserves for her and her alone. Only when there is no chance of others overhearing does he talk like this. 

She takes a deep breath in through her nose, holds it for a count of five, and releases it gradually enough that it hurts and shudders on the way out, her body bleeding out some of the tension along with it. She leans into his hands and the ropes that keep her still and bound and safe; it makes the ache in her muscles ease a little. Not all the way, but just enough.

“Okay.”

She can feel his smile on her skin before his teeth nip at her, and she half-yelps, half-laughs with surprise, hunching her shoulders up defensively, even though there’s no getting away from him. She doesn’t want to. He chuckles with her and grazes his teeth on her neck again. “That’s my girl. Now, where were we?”

 

The next day, neat lines of barely-there bruises have formed in sections from wrist to elbow, from elbow to bicep, then cross up to the crook of her neck and around her chest. She runs her fingers over the fragile and sensitive places, keeping her touch light over all that shadow of color. Even the lightest shirt she owns teases at her skin, leaving gooseflesh whenever it brushes up.

This is the first time that Bull had really gone through with it when she insisted she _liked_ the ropes a little tighter. That alone would be enough to make her smile; that trust he has that she is learning their games well enough to push the rules and limits without risk.

But it’s more than that.

When she sits at her desk and pens letter after letter to the families of her fallen soldiers, she can stop from time to time and finger the cuff of her shirtsleeves. When she speaks with Cullen and Josephine and Leliana at the war table and moves the pieces of Corypheaus’ growing forces across the map, she can straighten up and fold her arms over her chest, letting her fingers slot into the places the lines have bloomed. When she visits the wounded with Cole and holds their limp hands in her own as they look up at the Herald, awe in their eyes as they see hope instead of humanity, she can push her shoulders back until they click into the place where it smarts and stretches.

She can remind herself that at the end of the day, when she is weary from making choices for the entire world all on her own, she gets to slip into the tavern where Iron Bull is waiting for her with a grin on his face and two tankards in his grip, the Chargers littered around at all sides. She gets to toss her legs into his lap where he’ll lay a heavy, comforting hand and massage the tiredness from her calves and ankles, only to sneak up and pinch her backside so she nearly falls off the bench as she startles. She gets to smack his arm and roll her eyes, then tease him about some of the stories she plied from Krem the week before, until Bull is grumbling and surly in a way that only a kiss—or two, or ten—can dispel.

After she’s gotten herself good and buzzed, she gets to ask Bull if he wants to come track down a dragon in the Hinterlands with her and watch as his eyes light up and he crows with excitement, tells her he’d be insulted if he wasn’t invited and promises as casually as he breathes that he’ll watch her back in the fight. She gets to lean against him as his arm comes around her shoulders and his fingers curl around those secret, bruised places and trade sly smiles with him.

She gets to throw her head back and laugh and laugh as the Chargers prove those smiles maybe aren’t as secret as she’d hoped when they all complain that she and Bull are being disgustingly in love _again_ ; Bull just tells them smugly that it’s not his fault that he’s in a relationship with the most amazing woman in all of Thedas _and_ having the best sex in all of Thedas to boot, and they’re not.

And when the drinking is done and they’ve all wound down, she gets to stumble into bed with Bull and curl up at his side, her cheek on his chest, her arm slung across his waist to hold him as close as he holds her, and slip into dreams.

When she touches those bruises, she gets to remind herself that there’s someone who loves her just as much as she loves him, and he’s waiting for her.


End file.
